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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required What is this period, which illustrates the weak motions of dull blades, and misguided swings? I am an unfortunate imitator, as the fearless edge I once owned, has faded prominently among the flock as well. It is not the passion which is forever stuck in the quiet ignorance of sheath, but rather, the unmarked areas of unrest that requires a warrior’s decisive cut. But we are now scholars of sedentary efforts, and our slashes no longer spread deep caution among our adversaries. However, we have not defeated ourselves without the cause of Judas. We have been disarmed for ages, courtesy of those who marvel in our jagged failures. The audacity of this artificial textbook entitled humanity; to neutralize the arsenal of kings: past, present, and future. But still , how could one explain the brick and mortar that is possessed in thy sword? What is this technique from our natural birth that been suppressed until further notice? Answer: To exist within the greatest offense, and act, before the call of reaction, our current foe. To stab forethought into brief memory, and thrust forward. Baring all punishment for blood falsely exposed. If no site of fault becomes of this moment, then our finest cut will never perish. As the blade plays aggressive with the follow through, one may notice the innocent silhouettes that are favored behind it’s whisper. These are the gentle foundations that cause us to guard without asking. As worshippers of security, we slice away those inches of influence, that could bring illogical charm into reason. Thus, our steel diminishes when imbalances come into fruition. There is no better worry than our silent stance. There was a time when our subjective follow through never wavered, and our swords denied the flirtatious flinch. Opinions along the straight edges of debate, were once a warrior’s first and last identity. Such times are now recorded as a fairy tale of masculinity. Those wounds that once had no apprehension or fear, now hesitate to slash the fallacies of others. We are now the soft beggars of war, without our extended bass to culminate polarity yet again. As this battle extends itself to another sphere, I pray that prayer becomes obsolete in the realm of necessities’, and that these statues of war rediscover their purposeful precision, Referencing themselves back to their original title: Men.
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